re: Something in the attic - any suggestions?

sounds like a job for the Turtleman

Amirite?

Op is a bundle of sticks

Fr33manator that was awesome. Are you a writer? If so give us the names books you have written. I felt like I was reading Steven King.

Carla startled at the screaming sound and the heavy thump, the baby suckling at her breast recoiling for a brief moment before going back to her supper. Cradling and cooing at the infant, she silently sighed to herself, exasperated. Fred just couldn't call a professional to take care of the job, she thought. Damn men's fragile egos. Too much rode on their misplaced pride, in her mind, and those old caveman instincts kicked in, likely ruining some of the clothes she had stored up there with what sounded like a barbaric assault on some harmless little creature.

She was surprised he wasn't whooping and hollering up there like he had just slain a dragon. She chuckled to herself thinking about how the story would morph when he was telling his golf buddies about his feat. In a week it would have become a fish tale with him battling some massive beast for hours, armed only with a child's putter. Still, the ruckus up in the attic had ceased, so there was a silver lining. Let him have his moment of bravado, provided it didn't include him rutting drunkenly on her later in the bed. What was it about murdering defenseless little animals that gave men such a hard on anyway? "Fred!" she shouted as softly as she could, covering the baby's ears. No answer.
"Fre-e-e-e-ed!" She whispered as loudly as she could, trying to make her voice carry without waking the baby. Light shuffling in the attic, but no response.

Suddenly her mind filled with horror, a waking nightmare pressing her into action, moving swiftly down the hall.
She couldn't bear the thought of Fred, left up there to his own devices, hauling whatever bloody thing he had across all her decorations and carefully put away knickknacks and clothes, dripping gore like some Neanderthal. She passed the bottle of whiskey out on the wet bar and pursed her lips disapprovingly. That's all she needed, that lout stumbling around drunkenly in the attic, smearing blood and guts all over like some hallooing native.

She put the baby in the crib and hoped whatever racket Fred would make getting down wouldn't wake him again. Closing the door, she grabbed an old pillowcase from the linen closet in the hall and went to where the attic stairs were located. "Fred..." She called upwards, louder this time, "honey...did you get it? For god's sake don't get it everywhere. I have a bag down here for you to put it in."
A pause, a shuffle, then Fred's voice called down.
"Come up," it said, "come here."

"There's no way I'm coming up there barefoot in the dark. You must be drunk if you think I'm getting up there just so you can wave that dead thing in my face. Now come down and get this bag and get that thing out of the attic. I don't want it stinking up my nice clean house!"

Silence again, then his voice called down again...,
"Come up...come here..."
"What is wrong with you Fred!? I've already told you once that I am NOT coming up there!" She gave an exasperated huff, "I told you to call a professional! This is ridiculous! Well you got to play great white hunter, but enough is enough! Just come get this!" She climbed up three steps of the attic stairs, thrusting the faded red pillowcase with an outstretched arm towards the darkened opening.

Footsteps in the attic, boxes shifting, closer to the stairs now. The sounds of heavy breathing and dragging audible now. And Fred's voice again, a little louder this time.

"Come...up...come...here"

Carla's voice took a timorous tone now, her former indignation shrinking. "Honey...are you okay? Are you hurt? You don't sound right?"
The sound of the shuffling gait drew closer now. More boxes sliding and tumbling. Breathing heavy and wet and low. Fred's voice called down again, this time with a darkly melodic undertone.
"Come..."
He was almost there now, the humming sound of the em in his voice sending a shiver down Carla's spine, freezing her in place.
"...up."
So close now she could feel his presence, unable to move or scream, her voice caught in her throat.
Finally, with tears streaming down her cheeks, the terrified desperation cracking in her voice, mixed with pitiful anger..."Fred, I'm serious. Stop it! You're scaring me. Stop it now and get whatever it is out of the attic or I'm taking the baby and going to a hotel. Enough of this!"

The footsteps stopped, right at the edge of the stairs, the feeling of a lightless shadow falling over her. Ever so slowly she craned her neck up, tears streaming down her face as inch by petrified inch brought her eyes towards the sound of Fred's breathing. Then, in the blackness, she could made out the familiar outline of Fred's face peering over the edge, eyes staring blackly and blankly down at Carla's shaking form upon the ladder.
A grin formed across his lips and his mouth barely moved as his voiced called down, his arm reaching slowly down for Carla's outstretched hand.
"Come...
Up."

Fr33manater more please! You have got to be a writer!

For that kind of money dem coons got themselves a house but for their rent payments I am starting a Daniel Boone hat collection and selling them on ebay.